


Any Time

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Bridal Shop, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Biphobia, F/F, Families of Choice, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Women Being Awesome, Women Supporting Women, bi erasure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-16 23:28:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10581711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “...This isn'tSay Yes To The Dress.”





	1. Walk-In

**Author's Note:**

> Reader beware! Mind the "Abusive Relationships" and "Domestic Violence" tags. That said, abuse in the story is not happening to the POV character, so it is all described as an outsider looking in. 
> 
> ...Basically, I tried to write a story about women supporting each other, since media tends to pit them against each other at every possible turn. So, even though it goes to a few dark places, it's intended to be uplifting. I hope that comes across. 
> 
> See end notes for a more detailed explanation of the tags. If you have any other concerns or need something else tagged, please contact me here or on my tumblr (mrsdawnaway.tumblr.com).

This has to be the slowest Monday that Natasha has ever worked at Miss Claire’s.

Nobody’s around to help her pass the time, either. Maria’s not in — Monday and Tuesday are her weekend — and Nat’s the only consultant on the floor. The co-owners, the eponymous Misty and Claire, are in the back, supposedly doing inventory, but Nat caught them exchanging a less-than-professional look a moment ago, and Nat’s given and received enough looks like that to know. She was a little surprised by it at first, since they’ve never said anything about being together, but Nat’s happy for them. In fact, she’s relieved; it reminds her that she’s not the only queer in existence, which is easy to forget when she spends her days helping painfully straight girls into and out of white dresses.

Two hours into her shift, Natasha has already done everything that needs to be done today — namely, cleaning up from the weekend rush — and is drumming her fingers against the countertop when the bell over the door rings. Nat looks up, ready to welcome a potential customer, and does a double take.

The woman who just arrived is beautiful, with honey blonde hair pulled into a ponytail and warm brown eyes accented by subtle makeup. Nat catches herself staring, so she clears her throat, gives herself a mental shake, and asks if there’s anything she can help with.

“Well,” says the blonde, and she holds up her left hand. On her ring finger is one of the largest engagement rings that Nat’s ever seen.

“Congratulations,” Natasha says, and the customer gives her a pretty smile that fades fast.

“Thank you,” she says perfunctorily. “So I’m here to see about a dress.”

“Of course,” Nat replies. “I can book you an appointment.”

The other woman nods grimly. “Suppose I have to, huh?”

Nat hesitates. “Not necessarily,” she explains. “Most brides-to-be will bring in some friends or family to get their opinions, but you don’t have to. This isn’t _Say Yes To The Dress_.”

The blonde woman chuckles, which pleases Natasha immensely. “If you’d rather pick something out by yourself,” Nat goes on, “our team can help you right now. As you can see, we’re not exactly swamped.”

She gestures at the vacant store, and the blonde gives her a much more heartfelt smile. “That sounds amazing,” she sighs, “but my mother would have my head if I did that. She’s paying.”

“For the dress?” Natasha asks.

“For everything,” the customer clarifies.

“Ah,” says Natasha. She changes tactics somewhat, taking a few of the bridal magazines off the front counter and handing them to her. “Well, there’s no reason you can’t take a look ahead of time, see what you like. I’m Natasha, let me show you around.”

The blonde hesitates, glancing back at the front window, but she gives Natasha another smile. “I’m Sharon,” she says. “And I’d love that.”

* * *

Nat shows Sharon some of the dresses on the rack and takes her measurements, discovering in the process a small bi pride flag tattoo at the base of Sharon’s neck. She smiles when she sees it, but she doesn’t comment; instead, she adjusts her sleeve, so the rainbow heart on the inside of her forearm is showing, and she’s pretty sure she isn’t imagining it when Sharon’s smile widens.

Nat leaves her in the lounge, with her magazine and a cup of tea, when the bell over the door rings again. She makes Sharon promise to come get her if she needs anything, though, and Sharon draws a little X over her heart when she does. Nat keeps her eyes resolutely up and heads back to the counter with a spring in her step.

It’s the May party — three older women who are just so happy about their friends finally tying the knot that they take every opportunity to tell everyone in the store about Melinda and Phil. Nat’s heard it before, but she nods and acts surprised as she grabs their just-finished dresses from behind the counter.

They file into change rooms, chatting the whole time, complimenting each other and laughing when one of them gets stuck with the dress over her head. Nat intervenes, and soon all three of them are standing in front of the mirror in matching black satin. The bride, they tell Natasha, not for the first time, will be wearing red as per Chinese tradition; Nat thinks that the color contrast is going to be fantastic, and she wishes that she could see it.

“We’ll send you a picture,” says one bridesmaid generously. Victoria, Nat thinks her name is. “We wanted to get you ladies a thank you card anyway, especially your amazing seamstress. What’s her name again?”

“Maria,” Natasha tells her, and then she asks how the dress feels. They all agree that the alterations are good, and about ten minutes later, they’re signing to take their dresses home, and a minute after that, they’re out the door.

The store seems extremely quiet once they’ve gone, even with the radio on, but Nat waits until the bridesmaids are out of sight before she leaves the front to go back upstairs, where Sharon is still sipping tea and flicking through the magazine. Nat doesn’t want to rush her, so she fiddles around the coffee area, wiping the counter unnecessarily and straightening the mugs until Sharon sighs and sets her cup down.

“Well, there’s a lot to choose from,” she says, getting to her feet.

“At least you have some ideas now, though, right?” Nat offers, and Sharon’s mouth twists up in a sardonic smile.

“Yeah, I have the idea that I want to elope,” she says. “But I’ll book an appointment, since it’ll make my mom happy.”

 _And what makes_ you _happy?_ Nat wants to ask, but she bites her tongue and leads the way back to the front.

They book a session in two weeks, 11:30 on a Thursday morning, since Sharon doesn’t think she wants to deal with the weekend crowds. Frankly, Natasha can’t blame her, but she also can’t help feeling a little disappointed that she won’t be working that day. Still, she trusts that the other consultants will be able to help her find a dress she likes, even if her mother is being pushy. Helen is gentle but determined, and Natasha has seen grown men back away from Daisy and Jessica when they get that gleam in their eye.

“Take care,” Nat tells Sharon as she’s heading out the door, and she means it.

Sharon nods. “Thanks. You, too.”

The diamond on Sharon’s finger glints as she reaches for the door handle, but when she steps out on to street, she looks back and gives Nat one last gentle smile that Natasha can’t help but return.

 


	2. Appointment

Nat’s phone rings while she’s eating takeout in front of the TV on a Wednesday night — she considers just letting it go to voicemail, but when she glances over and sees the caller ID as “Daisy (Work),” she figures she’d better grab it.

Daisy sounds like crap, and her cough seems loud enough to cause an earthquake, so Nat knows what’s coming.

“I’m really sorry,” Daisy croaks. “I’ve had this cold for two days, I thought I’d be better, but—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Natasha replies. “I could use the money.”

“Thank you,” says Daisy. “I owe you one.”

“You bet,” Nat says, and she tells Daisy to take it easy before she disconnects.

It’s surprisingly busy at the shop the next morning, and Nat’s coming back from a much-needed break when Jessica flies past her with a glare that could melt steel.

“Heads up,” she says, in her definitely-not-talking-to-customers voice. “Control freak mom alert, and the bride’s asking for you.”

“Me? What did I do?” Natasha asks, bewildered.

Jessica shrugs. “Apparently you made an impression.” She turns to give Nat a bright, phony grin as she pushes open the restroom door. “Good luck!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Nat mutters. She hitches up her smile and dives back into the shark pit.

They’re swarming today — Jessica’s appointment is in one corner, taking advantage of Jessica’s absence to talk frankly about price, and a last-minute mother of the groom is flicking through the racks with Helen’s help, since she doesn’t have time to order something. Nat gives Helen a nod of solidarity as she passes, not breaking stride, her heeled boots loud on the hardwood floor all the way to the front. Waiting there is a group of five people — two men, two women, and—

“Sharon,” says Natasha, pleasantly surprised. She’d completely forgotten that today was the day. “Good to see you.”

Sharon’s anxious expression clears somewhat when Nat speaks, though the women behind her — one old enough that her blonde hair is shot through with silver, the other closer to Sharon’s age, with long, glossy brown curls — have a look on their faces like there’s a foul smell in the room. The men — who, Natasha realizes belatedly, were holding hands — break apart and move to flank Sharon, like they’re shielding her.

And as soon as the older woman opens her mouth, it becomes apparent who they’re protecting her from.

“Well, it’s about time,” she huffs. “You’d think with the amount of money we’ll be donating to this hole in the wall, you wouldn’t keep us waiting so long.”

“Terribly sorry about that, Ma’am, we’re running a little behind this morning,” Nat says automatically, even as she sees the digital display of the blonde man’s watch switch from 11:30 to 11:31. “If you’ll just come this way, we can get started.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” says Sharon in an undertone, falling into step beside her. “Natasha,” she goes on at normal volume, “this is my mother, Joanne; my sister, Nina; my best friend, Steve; and his husband, Sam.”

“Nice to meet you all,” Natasha says. As they reach the mirrored platform in the corner opposite to Jessica’s group, Jessica’s coming back from the restroom. She sends Nat a quick _You okay?_ look, and Natasha nods at her.

“None of the other bridesmaids could make it,” Nina remarks suddenly. “Thank God Sharon has a gay best friend.”

“Bi,” Steve corrects her quietly, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

“And he’s the maid of honor,” Sam adds pointedly. “Thank you,” he adds to Natasha when she gestures for them to take their seats.

Nina doesn’t thank her. She perches on the edge of a chair and eyes the floor dubiously before setting her giant purse on her lap instead. And Joanne doesn’t even sit; she stands beside the row of chairs, scanning the dresses on display around the shop with obvious distrust. Sharon stays close to Natasha, looking awkward and nervous.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea what you’re looking for, Sharon,” Joanne says, and it sounds like an insult.

“I have some ideas,” Sharon replies. “Simple, nothing too poufy. I want to be able to move.”

Nina rolls her eyes. “She meant, what _designer_ do you want, Shar. And don’t say it doesn’t matter, because it totally does,” she adds when Sharon opens her mouth again.

Sharon shoots Natasha a helpless, lost look, and Nat comes to her rescue. “Last time you were here, I think you were looking at the BHLDN catalogue, what did you think of that?”

Before Sharon can answer, her mother makes a noise of disgust. “Please. BHLDN?”

Nina laughs. “Really, did you expect anything better from a place like this? I told you we should have gone to the shop that sold me my dress.” She gives Natasha a smug look. “Eve of Milady with Swarovski crystals and Venice organza — it was to die for. Nothing like your, uh, limited selection here.”

Natasha feels her smile go a little rigid. She isn’t sure what to say, but thankfully, Steve intervenes.

“Nina,” he says, and there’s a quiet power in his voice that makes Nat take notice and makes Nina freeze. “Sharon is the one getting married, and Sharon chose this place. Can you please respect her wishes?”

There’s a moment of intense silence in which Nina glares at Steve, but Steve doesn’t back down, and eventually Nina looks away, Joanne sits, and Natasha hears Sharon exhale.

“So, you’re looking for something simple?” Nat prompts her.

Sharon nods gratefully. “Nothing too complicated. But pretty, you know?”

“Elegant, like her,” Sam puts in, giving Sharon a wink that makes Sharon blush.

Sam, Steve, and Sharon talk to each other and to Natasha like Joanne and Nina aren’t even there, narrowing down their options until Nat has an image of what she thinks Sharon has in mind. She concentrates on that, not daring to look and see how the women are reacting to being ignored. She’s picturing smoke coming out of their ears, and it almost makes her want to laugh.

“Okay,” she says instead, with another nod. “You can get in the change room if you want, Sharon. There’s a dressing gown and slippers in there for you, get comfy. I’ll grab you some options from the racks.”

“Thank you,” Sharon says softly. She inhales, looks to Steve and Sam, who beam at her.

“Go ahead, girl,” says Sam, and Steve nods seriously beside him.

* * *

The first dress Sharon tries is a ball gown, at Nina’s insistence — _Come on, just to see what the shape looks like on you!_ — and it’s at least three sizes too big. Regardless, Nat’s happy for the work; it gives her an excuse to talk to Sharon apart from her family, and she’s a lot less stressed without them, a lot more like that sweet, shy woman who walked into Miss Claire’s on a Monday morning two weeks ago.

“So, tell me about your fiancé,” Natasha says, as she’s clipping up the excess fabric to make it (sort of) fit.

Sharon chuckles, pulling her hair forward over her shoulder. “I thought you said this wasn’t _Say Yes to the Dress_.”

“Ow,” says Nat, when she clips her pinky finger by accident. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, you know, in every episode, the consultant asks about the fiancé while they’re in the change room,” Sharon explains. “There’s the sappy music, the photo montage — you _do_ know what I’m talking about, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Natasha begins, but Sharon gasps, cutting her off.

“Oh my god,” she exclaims. “You’ve never even seen the show, have you?”

Nat laughs, even though she can tell her face is red. “You caught me. Please don’t tell my boss.”

Sharon raises the hand that isn’t holding her hair. “Your secret dies with me, I swear it.”

A silence falls between them, broken only by the rustle of tulle as Natasha navigates around the giant skirt to adjust the bodice as much as possible.

“His name is Brock,” Sharon says after a moment. It doesn’t sound like she’s smiling. “He’s nice. Treats me well.”

“That’s important,” Natasha replies. “What’s he do?”

“He’s in the military,” Sharon says. Her shoulders move in a half shrug that means Nat has to re-tighten some clips. “I don’t know what he does, exactly, but he’s overseas a lot.”

“That sounds rough,” Natasha murmurs sympathetically.

“It can be,” says Sharon, and then she takes a deep breath and relaxes her shoulders.

“Does it feel secure?” Nat asks, stepping back.

“I think so,” Sharon replies. “If not, well, I guess I’ve always wondered what it would be like to flash someone.”

Natasha laughs as she comes around to Sharon’s front and tugs on the skirt to adjust it. “It’s never as fun as you think it’s going to be.”

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “You speak from experience?”

Nat grins, pleased and flattered by the way they’re almost flirting. “Oh, no. You already know too much. I’m not saying a word.”

Sharon laughs — it’s a wonderful sound in the small room. It’s free and full of light, like Sharon brought a piece of the sun in with her. “Okay, fair enough. Now spin me, so I can get a look at this monstrosity.”

Natasha helps her turn, and tries not to laugh at Sharon’s horrified expression in the mirror. She has to admit, it’s pretty bad. She also has to admit that she picked this dress on purpose, from what the team calls the Told Ya So Rack, where they keep one of each different silhouette, just for the purpose of proving pushy family members wrong.  

“Oh my god, I look like Cinderella,” Sharon groans. “If Cinderella was a street walker.”

Nat has to laugh at that, because it’s a remarkably accurate comparison. “Want to show it off?”

“Not really,” Sharon says, “but Nina will never believe me if I just tell her it looks terrible.”

Nat bites back all the things she could say about gaslighting, and gathers up the train. “Let’s go.”

When they emerge, Nina gasps, Joanne grimaces, Sam winces, and Steve just blinks. He and his husband cover their reactions within a few seconds, though, and don’t say a word, while Joanne and Nina shake their heads.

“I hate it,” says Joanne. “Why on earth would you suggest that, Nina?”

“It was worth a shot,” Sharon replies, coming inexplicably to her sister’s rescue.

“Whatever,” Joanne says, dismissing the protest with a wave of her hand. “Go try something else.”

“Sure,” says Sharon, and she turns and starts walking away. Nat rushes forward to keep her from stepping on the dress, a little troubled by how quickly Sharon obeyed, how different she is when her mother is there, like she’s a shadow of that person who laughed a moment ago in the dressing room.

But, after Sharon’s taken three steps she turns around and says, quite clearly, “But it’s going be something that I actually want, okay?”

Nat catches a glimpse of Steve’s smirk as they disappear into the change room. “Atta girl,” she says, once the group is out of earshot.

Sharon seems to be trembling slightly as she pulls her hair forward again. “That was probably really rude,” she says worriedly.

“Nah, they had it coming,” Nat replies before she can stop herself. She gets Sharon out of the dress and wrestles it back onto the hanger. “Let’s put you in something different.”

Sharon smiles at her, still anxious, but looking a little more hopeful. “Okay.”

* * *

They try four more dresses: the first three are A-lines, and then Sharon asks for a mermaid, just for variety. Nat shows her some options, none of them from the Told Ya So Rack. Because Sharon made this choice for herself, and Natasha will be damned before she takes that away from her.

They talk a lot, while it’s just the two of them. Sharon tells her about Brock, about how his family has been friends with hers for as long as she can remember. They’ve been dating for five years — though, with Brock’s assignments, he’s been back and forth a lot.

“But he’s coming home now. For good,” Sharon explains, when Nat’s finally finished with the buttons and clips on the back of the mermaid. “He says he’s retiring, wants to start a family.”

Natasha hums noncommittally as she makes a final few adjustments. “Sounds like you’ve got it all planned out.”

“Not really,” says Sharon after a little pause in which Nat circles around to the front to fiddle with the bodice a bit more.

Nat looks up, surprised, and Sharon meets her gaze. There’s something almost desperate in her eyes. “I mean, it’s what people do, right?” she asks. “We’ve been together so long, it’s the next step.”

Natasha knows she’s supposed to nod. She’s done this before, with other brides. She’s supposed to reassure Sharon that these doubts are normal, that her fiancé loves her, and everything will work out just fine. She’s supposed to wax poetic about marriage and kids and a white picket fence — all the things she’s never wanted, all the reasons she’s about as straight as an untwisted hanger.

“How’s the dress feeling?” she asks, instead of saying something disastrous like, _Is that really what you want?_

“I feel like my legs are squished,” Sharon answers, trying and failing to take a big step forward. “But let’s see how it looks.”

Nat turns her, and she doesn’t hate it, to Nat’s surprise. Her entourage — which, Sharon assures her, is the proper name for the group of people that the bride brings along to the shop — doesn’t hate it, either. They discuss it amongst themselves for a long time, praising it, until finally Sam asks Sharon an important question.

“But is it you?”

“Is it...?” Sharon repeats.

“It’s a beautiful dress,” Sam goes on. “But is it _you_?”

“I don’t—”

“Brock will love it,” Nina interrupts. “It makes you look so sexy.”

“Brock’s not wearing it,” Steve reminds her. “Sharon is.”

Nina scowls, looking put out, but Sharon frowns thoughtfully, shifting her feet and walking across the platform. “It’s not exactly comfortable,” she says. “It’s a little hard to move.”

“And you know you’re gonna want to dance,” Sam agrees.

“Okay,” says Sharon, with a decisive nod. “This isn’t my dress.”

“Okay,” Natasha echoes. She can’t help feeling relieved and, weirdly, a little proud. “Back to the drawing board.”

* * *

They narrow it down to two of the A-lines. Both are lacy and gorgeous, accentuating the hell out of Sharon’s features.

Sharon’s first choice is an uncomplicated lace gown, with a deep V-neck, narrow straps, and a sheer back. It’s a BHLDN, which pisses her mother off on principle. She and Nina prefer one that’s similar, a Maggie Sottero (which Miss Claire’s _does_ carry, thank you very much, Nina) with more embellishments — Swarovski crystals and beaded appliqués — cap sleeves and a keyhole back. Both look fantastic on Sharon, and if it were up to Nat, she honestly wouldn’t be able to decide. Technically, she’s supposed to upsell if she can, though, so she calls Helen over for support.

“That’s the one,” she says, when Sharon emerges from the dressing room with the Maggie Sottero on again. “It’s a full step above in terms of elegance and grace, and you wear it so well.”

Sharon’s cheeks color again, and Natasha mouths a silent _Thank you_ in Helen’s direction when no one is looking.

“Let’s finish the look and try it with a veil,” Helen adds when Sharon still looks hesitant.

“Or maybe a fascinator?” Steve suggests, and Helen snaps her fingers at him.

“Brilliant,” she exclaims, and she hurries off to the accessary shelf.

“See, this is why it’s good to keep a few of them around,” Nat hears Joanne mutter to Nina. “They’re so good with fashion.”

“Well, the guys are,” Nina whispers back. “But the girls? Ugh, don’t get me started.”

“Have you thought about how you want to wear your hair?” asks Sam, clearly oblivious to the conversation that has Natasha biting her tongue so hard she tastes blood.

“I don’t know,” Sharon answers. “Brock likes it down, but I feel like it’ll be really hot on my neck.”

“The wedding’s in July,” Steve tells Natasha and Helen, who’s come back with an armful of delicate accessories. “If it’s down it’ll cover your tattoo, though,” he adds to Sharon.

“True,” Sharon sighs. She starts to say something else, but her mother intervenes. Again.

“Shouldn’t see that on your wedding day, anyway,” she declares. “It’s tacky.”

It takes serious effort for Natasha not to roll her eyes. Steve doesn’t have that kind of restraint.

“Tell that to Peggy, your sister-in-law,” he counters. “And her wife. Oh, that’s right, they’re not speaking to you anymore. Wonder why that is.”

Nat and Helen exchange an anxious look, while Sharon drops her chin to her chest. Nina and Joanne’s faces twist up in anger, but Sam takes Steve’s hand and forces it out of a fist before either of them can argue back.

“Sharon, that dress will look fantastic no matter what you do with your hair,” he says, his syllables coming out a little more clipped than usual. “Any other accessories you’re thinking about?”

“How about a belt?” asks Helen, holding some up.

“Or we could get you a tiara,” Natasha offers, hoping she sounds almost normal.

“I’ve never been one for the princess look, but thanks,” Sharon replies, and, even though her voice wavers a little, her eyes are clear and focused on Nat. “So aren’t you going to ask the question?”

Nat blinks. “Sorry?”

Helen chuckles. “Sharon,” she begins seriously, “are you saying yes to this dress?”

“I am,” Sharon affirms. She looks into the mirror and smiles with some effort. “I’m saying yes to this dress.”

Helen applauds briefly, but she’s the only one. Sam and Steve each give Sharon a high five, but Joanne is still scowling and Nina is looking at her watch.

“I’ve gotta get going,” she says a second later. “I have to pick Jo up from daycare soon, and—”

“I understand,” Sharon replies. “Thanks for coming, I’ll see you later.”

Nina hugs her mother and embraces Sharon quickly, keeping a safe distance between her and the dress, and she leaves without so much as a look in Steve and Sam’s direction. Helen, at a glance from Natasha, takes Joanne up to the front counter to talk payment, leaving Steve and Sam shuffling their feet beside Sharon and Nat.

“I’m sorry,” Steve murmurs. “I didn’t mean to make that harder on you. Should’ve just kept my mouth shut.”

“It’s okay,” Sharon replies, giving him a little smile. “You can go now if you want.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Steve says fervently, and Sam nods.

“We’ve got your back,” he tells her, and he gives her a tight hug. “And we’re taking you for lunch, no arguments. God knows you deserve a cheeseburger after this.”

Sharon’s smile widens. “Thanks, Sam,” she says quietly. She turns to Nat. “Get me out of this thing?”

Natasha winks, even though she knows it isn’t exactly appropriate, but it’s worth it just to hear Sharon laugh again. “Any time.”


	3. Delivery

Sharon’s dress comes in on a Friday four months later, right on time, and through pure chance, Natasha’s working when it does, so she gets to be the one to call and let Sharon know it’s here. She feels a little flutter of excitement in her belly as she dials and bounces on her toes while it rings.

But it’s not Sharon who answers. Instead, it’s a gruff male voice. “Hello?”

“Um, hi,” says Natasha, feeling like the butterflies in her stomach have turned back into caterpillars. “I’m looking for Sharon?”

“Yeah?” says the man. “And who are you?”

“Sorry,” Nat replies, going automatically into customer service mode. “This is Natasha Romanov from Miss Claire’s Bridal Boutique. I’m calling about the wedding gown that Sharon ordered a few months ago.”

“Oh, good,” the man says. “Sorry, I thought maybe you were one of her girlfriends.”

Nat’s blood runs cold at the ugly way he says the word. “Girlfriends?” she repeats, aware that her voice has dropped at least an octave.

“Never mind,” says the man. “Shar’s not here right now. I’ll get her to call you back, okay?”

“Sure,” Nat manages to get out through gritted teeth. “We’re open till 6 tonight.”

“Got it,” the man says, and he hangs up immediately.

Natasha stares at the dead phone in her hand for a long moment. There’s a roiling, sick feeling in the pit of stomach, something she hasn’t felt in years. She pushes it away, though; she doesn’t have time to deal with it right now. Sharon’s wasn’t the only dress to arrive, and there’s an appointment coming up in half an hour.

With a sigh, she puts down the phone and looks up the next customer she has to call.

* * *

As she and Daisy lock up the store that night, Natasha realizes that Sharon never did call back.

* * *

She comes in the following Monday. Nat watches her climb out of a fancy black car that pulls up in front of the shop and squeals away the second Sharon closes the door behind her. Sharon spins around in surprise, her hair flying every which way in the wind — unlike when she came for her appointment, it’s down today, with a slight curl. Nat winces, thinking of the work that Sharon must have put into it this morning, only to have it ruined before noon. But Nat pulls up a smile — which is easy to do when she sees Sharon — by the time the bell over the door rings, and then Sharon’s coming up to the counter.

“Why, hello, stranger,” Nat greets her, and Sharon smiles in the midst of smoothing down her hair.

“Hi, sorry I never called you back,” Sharon says. “I, uh, lost my phone for a few days.”

Nat can tell she’s lying, but since Sharon’s obviously nervous about it, she decides to let it go. “That’s okay. I was just calling to let you know that your dress is here.”

Sharon lights up. “Can I try it on?”

“Of course you can,” Natasha replies, and she leads the way back to a dressing room.

“It’s even more beautiful than I remember,” Sharon practically moans when Natasha brings the dress in. “I’m glad I went with the high end one.”

“Oh?” says Nat, as she helps Sharon step into the gown. “Why’s that?”

Sharon sighs. “Well, we’re going a little more formal than we originally thought.”

Nat wonders who _we_ is.

“It turns out that Brock’s parents want a church wedding,” Sharon goes on. “They’re being pretty insistent, actually. Which means I’ll have to wear my hair down and cover my tattoo after all.”

“Damn,” Natasha laments, but Sharon just shrugs.

“It’s okay.” She pauses, before adding in a lower voice, “Brock hates it anyway.”

“Why?” Nat asks before she can stop herself.

Sharon breathes in and holds it as Natasha starts buttoning up the back, even though the dress is plenty big enough. She lets the air out slowly, then meets Nat’s eyes in the mirror. Natasha grimaces and nods, not really needing any further explanation — she’d heard the implication in his voice a few days ago. _Girlfriends._

“Did you only just tell him?” Natasha asks quietly.

Sharon shrugs again. “Officially, yeah, I guess so. But when I first met him in college, I was dating a girl, so I thought he’d, you know, put it together already.” She drops her gaze, swallows hard. “But I guess he assumed I was just going through a phase.”

Nat feels her jaw clench up, and makes a conscious effort to relax it. “College fling, huh?”

Sharon nods.

“My parents thought that, too,” Natasha tells her. “Took them about four girlfriends to figure out I meant it when I said I was gay.”

Sharon chuckles humorlessly. “Well, the tattoo is new. I got it while he was on his last tour, and, yeah, I had to explain that to him when he came home a few days ago.”

 _Were those the same few days you lost your phone?_ thinks Natasha.

“Steve went with me to get it done,” Sharon explains, half-twisting in her dress to see the back. “Right after we went to Pride.”

“Was that your first time?” Nat asks. She’s done the buttons now, but she busies herself with adjusting the bodice, not quite ready to end the conversation yet. “Going to Pride, I mean?”

A genuine smile takes over Sharon’s face. “It was,” she affirms. “My aunts gave me so much shit about that.”

Natasha grins. “Aunts do that sometimes.”

“Especially mine,” says Sharon. “Peggy and Angie have been together since the 80s. I’m pretty sure they met when they both got arrested at the same AIDS march.”

“That’s amazing,” Natasha laughs, stepping back.

“This dress is amazing,” says Sharon, and just like that, the professional atmosphere is back, though Sharon’s smile is probably still more friendly than most clients’ would be. “Can you take some pictures for me?”

“Of course,” Nat says at once. She waits while Sharon digs her phone out of her purse, then leads the way out of the dressing room and back to the mirrored platform.

“Looking good,” Misty calls, abandoning her paperwork at the front to come back and check out Sharon’s dress.

“Thanks,” says Sharon. Nat snaps a photo, hoping she managed to catch the exact moment Sharon’s shy smile bloomed.

“May I?” asks Misty, when she gets close enough. Sharon nods, and Misty gathers her hair and lifts it. “What do you think, up or down?”

“My fiancé likes it down,” Sharon says, and Misty chuckles.

“Well, your fiancé’s not here, so I’m asking you. What do you think?” she says again.

Sharon does another turn, examining the hair from all angles while Natasha takes another picture. “I like it up,” she says softly.

“Me too,” Misty agrees. “Let’s get you some veils to try, and then we’ll schedule you to come back and see Maria.”

* * *

On the day of her first fitting, Sharon arrives wearing a half-turtleneck sweater under a denim jacket, despite the warm spring weather. Nat smiles at her, the same as she has every time that she’s seen Sharon since they met, but Sharon’s answering smile is quick, tight and furtive like she’s afraid of being caught at it.

“Hey,” Natasha greets her cautiously. “How’s it going?”

“I’m okay,” says Sharon, and it sounds like there’s a lot in that one word.

Nat waits, but Sharon doesn’t go on. Finally, Natasha asks, “So, you wanna come in, get started?”

“Actually,” Sharon begins. She coughs; her voice is a little hoarse. “I’m sorry, but I can’t do it today.”

“Oh,” says Natasha, surprised. “Well, that’s okay. We can reschedule.”

“Um,” Sharon says, and she jumps, turning in alarm when a police cruiser turns on its siren on the street outside.

Nat gets a chill when she sees the mark on Sharon’s neck that’s revealed by the movement of her sweater.

“Rescheduling is good,” says Sharon, still looking away. “When can that be?”

Natasha blinks, makes a decision. She yanks her eyes up from Sharon’s neck just in time for Sharon to turn around. “Come on upstairs for a minute,” she says. “We can look at the book.”

“Oh, I— I don’t know,” Sharon stammers. Nat can definitely see it now, the edge of a bruise on the side of her throat.

“It won’t take that long,” Nat assures her, and Sharon finally nods.

They head upstairs, Natasha resisting the urge to take her arm and guide her up the last few steps. As it is, Sharon’s twitchy; Nat suspects she might jump out of her skin if anyone touched her unexpectedly.

 _Like that bastard did,_ Natasha thinks, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s angry, frustrated that there isn’t more she can do. Even letting on that she’s noticed the bruise could be enough to scare her off.

So she leads Sharon upstairs, makes her some tea, and grabs Maria’s schedule from the alterations room. She takes a minute, while she’s in there, to breathe, to settle herself and tamp down the memories that have been threatening to bubble over ever since she spoke to Sharon’s fiancé on the phone.

“What’s up?” Maria asks, glancing up from her work when she notices her. “Is my appointment here?”

“She is, but—” Nat sighs. “I’ll explain later.”

Maria cocks a curious eyebrow, but she shrugs. “Okay.”

Sharon’s gripping her mug with both hands, so tight that her knuckles are white, when Nat gets back to the lounge. Her eyes are shiny when she looks up at Natasha entering the room.

“I’m sorry about this,” she says, and Nat knows she’s not talking about having to reschedule.

“It’s okay,” Natasha replies softly. She sits beside Sharon on the couch, unsure as to whether or not it would be all right to touch her now.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Sharon half-whispers. “I’ve never been in this situation before.”

Natasha hesitates. Then— “I have.”

She smiles grimly at Sharon’s look of surprise. It’s not something she talks about, not something that people expect when they meet her; society holds certain assumptions about abused women, and Natasha doesn’t fit very many of them. For one thing, she was abused by another woman.

“What did you do?” Sharon asks.

“I left,” Nat replies. Like it was that simple. Like it could ever be that simple. “It took me a little while to get out,” she feels compelled to add. “We lived together, so it was— it was hard,” she finishes.

Sharon nods. “Brock wants to buy a house.”

 _Bad idea,_ Natasha thinks immediately, but before she can say anything—

“I don’t want to depend on him,” Sharon says. “Not when he— I don’t.”

“He’s broken your trust,” Natasha says, as gently as she can.

“Yeah.” Sharon closes her eyes; a tear glides silently down her cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever trusted him.”

“You don’t have to go through with it,” Natasha murmurs. She takes a chance, reaches for Sharon’s hand and holds on. “Marrying him, I mean. You don’t owe him anything.”

“You’re right,” Sharon says, and she draws a deep breath. “Not after what he did last night.”

“Not _ever_ ,” Natasha emphasizes. “You deserve better than this.”

Sharon wipes her eyes, runs her wet fingers through her hair. Her eyeliner is smeared like a bruise under her eyes. Natasha hands her a tissue from the box on the table.

“He never used to be like this,” Sharon tells her, taking it.

“I believe that,” Natasha says.

“He loves me,” says Sharon, almost too quiet to hear.

 _I don’t believe that,_ Natasha thinks, but Sharon isn’t in a place to hear it right now. Her bottom lip is trembling, her fingers are tearing the edges of the tissue to shreds. Natasha makes another decision.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” she says. “Is there someone I can call? Steve, maybe?”

Sharon shakes her head, hard. “He’ll kill him,” she breathes. She takes out her phone and unlocks it, gives it to Nat with shaking hands. “Call Sam.”

Sam arrives so fast Nat would swear he had wings. Natasha leaves to give them some privacy, heads back downstairs, where Maria, Misty, and Claire are whispering at the front. They fall silent when Nat appears, then Claire is coming around the counter and giving her a hug.

“What?” says Natasha, completely taken aback.

“Maria told us,” Misty explains. “Said you came into the alterations room shaking.”

“And we took a peek in the lounge,” adds Claire as she lets Nat go and steps back. “Looked pretty intense.”

“Yeah,” Natasha nods. Her voice falters, her eyes are burning— she can’t say anything more just now. “Yeah.”

The others stay close to her for the fifteen minutes or so until Sam and Sharon come down the stairs. Sharon’s holding a clump of tissues in her hand, but she looks a little better, even managing a smile in Nat’s direction as they go by.

“We’ll see you later,” says Sam. His eyes meet Natasha’s. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” Nat replies, and just like that, they’re gone.

* * *

Two days pass. Natasha knows she’s not well. She’s jumpy like she hasn’t been since first leaving Alexis, and she has nightmares about a man — though she can’t make out his face, Nat knows it’s Brock — breaking through the front window of the shop and demanding she explain why Sharon left him. Natasha’s always speechless in the dream, and she wakes up with the ghostly impression of hands on her throat, invisible bruises that haunt her all day.  

Maria takes Nat out after work; they share Chinese takeout around Maria’s tiny kitchen table, and at the end of the night, Nat realizes just how unwell she is. She calls her therapist the next morning, starts going twice a week for the first time in over a year.

On her way home from an appointment three weeks later, she stops at a women’s shelter and asks about volunteering on days she isn’t working.

It’s nice. It’s good. Natasha sorts through donations, works the front desk, sweeps the floor — nothing major, but it’s valuable. It makes her feel like she’s accomplishing something, like she can do somebody some good, even if she’s thinking the whole time about how she couldn’t really do anything for Sharon.

Eventually, she stops worrying that Brock is going to come after her. Eventually, she moves her handgun from her nightstand back to its lockbox on the other side of the room. Eventually, she feels whole again.

Better than whole. Healthy. She finds herself talking with the girls at work again, laughing at their chatter, telling her own stories. She even speaks a little more openly about her past, realizing as she speaks that she isn’t watching her pronouns like she normally would.

So of course that’s the day that Steve shows up at the shop.

Nat doesn’t recognize him at first, other than the fact that he’s tall and built and blonde — aesthetically pleasing, probably, for women who aren’t her — and looking wildly out of place like most guys do when they come into the store by themselves.

“Natasha, hi,” he says, greeting her like a drowning man would greet a life preserver. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Of course,” Nat replies, forcing down another wave of worry and fear.

She finishes ringing up the customers she’s working with, and bids them goodbye before turning to Steve, who’s flicking through a rack of mother-of-the-bride dresses with a growing expression of horror. Nat waves him over, and Misty, noticing from across the store, joins her behind the counter. Natasha hesitates, unsure about whether Steve wants her included, but Steve addresses her directly, answering Nat’s unasked question.

“You’re the owner, aren’t you?” he says, and Misty nods. “Good. I need to talk to you, too.”

“Sure thing,” Misty replies.

“How’s Sharon?” Natasha blurts out, since she’s been dying to say that for a good fifteen minutes now.

“She’s all right,” Steve reassures her with a soft smile. “Said to say thank you.”

Natasha nods, grateful and relieved. “Where is she?”

“England,” Steve replies. “She’s staying with her aunts for a little while. I think she needed a change of scenery.”

“Fair enough,” Misty murmurs.

There’s a pause, like Steve is waiting for someone to ask about Brock, but Nat really doesn’t want to ask, and Misty stays silent as well.

“So,” Steve says, clearing his throat a little. “The wedding is cancelled, as you can imagine, and I’m here about the dress.”

“Oh, honey,” says Misty. “I don’t think it’ll fit you.”

Steve stares for a second, and then he laughs, loud and sudden. “That’s a shame,” he says, and he shakes his head. “But no, I wanted to know if you had any connections to charity, somewhere we could donate the dress, give it to someone in need?”

It’s Natasha’s turn to be surprised. “Donate?” she repeats. “Doesn’t Sharon’s mom want a refund?”

“I don’t give a damn if she does,” Steve tells her. He couldn’t be anymore different than he was when he laughed a moment ago: his jaw is set, and all at once Natasha sees why Sharon was sure that this man would kill her fiancé as soon as he learned that Brock had laid a hand on her. “Sharon wants to donate it, and I’m here to make that happen.”

“Fair enough,” Misty replies. “Well, there’s a few charities that we work with, why don’t we go upstairs and—”

“We should auction it,” Natasha interrupts, her mouth running ahead of her brain. “Split the profits between a few shelters.”

Misty’s looking at her like she’s never seen her before. “You’re a genius,” she says. “We always have dresses from past seasons that don’t sell, why don’t I talk to the companies? We could auction them all, make a thing of it.”

“It’d be excellent PR for your shop,” Steve puts in, and Misty gets her turn to look determined.

“Screw the PR,” she scoffs. “It’s the right thing to do.”

Steve grins. “I was hoping you’d say that.”


	4. The Beginning

Natasha’s nervous. She’s backstage, and three volunteers are clustered around her, one touching up her makeup, one fastening the buttons at the back of her dress, and one waiting with Nat’s shoes in hand.

Natasha hears the bang of the auction gavel, and a surge of applause. A moment later, Daisy comes through the curtain, stunning in last year’s Vera Wang. She’s grinning.

“Eight hundred,” she announces, giving a little twirl that shows off the flared bottom of the dress.

“That’s amazing,” Jessica exclaims. Daisy nods and gives her a high five before rushing past them to change into her next outfit.

Jessica’s ready, on deck for when the auctioneer announces her. The Theia was a great choice for her — simple and not exceptionally girly, which allows for her usual dramatic eye makeup. Natasha feels another wave of gratitude that FitzSimmons teamed up with Miss Claire’s for this auction, giving them even more dresses to sell.

“Well, there’s my cue,” Jessica adds, and she blows them all a kiss before parting the curtains and heading out to strut her stuff.

Nat smiles, remembering how serious Jessica was when Nat asked the team of consultants if they wanted to participate. Jessica told her afterwards about Kilgrave, and Nat brought her out to the shelter as well. They’ve been close ever since, Jess helping Nat coordinate this event every step of the way.

“All set,” the volunteer behind Natasha murmurs, pulling away. Nat steps into her shoes, draws a deep breath.

“How do I look?” she asks.

“Wonderful,” Helen replies. She’s next after Natasha, almost unrecognizable in a rockabilly style, with a bird cage veil and a modest high-low dress that the volunteers are still adjusting. “This is so great, Natasha,” she goes on a second later. “Honestly, you should be proud.”

Natasha nods and looks down, bashful. She is proud, happy to be helping women in need, but throughout the ten months that she’s been planning this event, she’s felt like there’s something missing, some piece of the puzzle that she hasn’t been able to find.

Only when she takes her first step out onto the stage, and sees Sharon in the front row of the audience, does she realize what that piece was.

Sharon lights up the second Natasha appears, and Nat can’t hear a word the auctioneer says, isn’t tracking any of the bids, can’t see anyone else. The room may as well be empty, except for the two of them. Sharon’s hand comes up in a wave, she’s opening her mouth, she’s going to say something, to speak to Nat for the first time in—

“Three hundred,” she calls.

The room comes rushing back, as everyone gasps and goes quiet.

“Three hundred, okay, three hundred up from one-fifty,” the auctioneer repeats. “Three hundred, do I hear three-fifty?”

The older woman beside Sharon raises her hand.

“Three-fifty,” the auctioneer declares, “to the lady in the red hat, thank you, Ma’am. Three-fifty, do I hear four?”

Natasha watches Sharon laugh and clutch at the woman’s arm, explain something to her in a low voice. The woman on the other side of them, a blonde with tattoos on her wrists, laughs as well and throws up her hand. The three of them take turns outbidding each other, until the woman in the red hat clinches Nat’s dress — which used to be Sharon’s — for seven-fifty.

Sharon beams at Natasha, the woman in the red hat kisses the tattooed woman’s cheek, and the tattooed woman grabs her hand, interlaces their fingers. Something sweet and aching moves through Nat’s chest, but she’s being ushered off the stage; it’s Helen’s turn.

But the smile doesn’t leave her lips for the rest of the night, and when Sharon comes up to the payment table to collect the dress, Sharon’s smiling right back at her and introducing her to her aunts, Peggy and Angie.

“Take a break, Nat, you’ve earned it,” Misty says suddenly, dropping into the chair beside Nat’s at the table. Natasha turns, and Claire’s on her other side.

“Yeah, we’ve got this,” she says, and the little jerk of her head in Sharon’s direction is enough to get Nat out of her seat and hustling around the table.

“Hi,” Sharon says, amused. Her aunts are smirking, too.

“Come on,” Nat replies. “Let’s go downstairs and grab a coffee.”

Sharon glances over her shoulder, and her aunts wave her away. “Okay.”

“So you bought back your own dress,” Natasha comments, once they’ve made their way through the crowd to the empty and quiet stairwell.

“Peggy bought back my dress,” Sharon corrects her. “And it’s for Angie.”

“Is it?” says Natasha, with some surprise. Sharon nods.

“Renewal of vows this summer,” she explains. “Also, they’re making it legal, since they can now.”

“Wow,” Nat murmurs. “That’s lovely.”

“It is,” Sharon agrees. She stops in front of the exit, turns back. “Look, Natasha, I just wanted to say...”

Nat waits. She feels like she’s back in that moment almost a year ago, right after seeing the bruises and unsure whether or not it was safe to touch. Sharon makes the decision for her after a second, though, placing her hand on Nat’s wrist and squeezing gently.

“I wasn’t going to leave him,” she says in a low voice, dropping her eyes like she’s ashamed. “I’d spent all night making excuses for him, and I pretty much had myself convinced. If you hadn’t been in the store that day, if you hadn’t seen— well.” She looks up with watery eyes. “Let’s just say that Angie would have had to get her own dress.”

Natasha nods. She’s been there. She remembers when excusing Alexis’s behavior felt as natural as breathing. “It’s a hard habit to break,” she says softly.

“And he cut me off,” Sharon goes on. “I didn’t see it at the time, but my friends, they were trying to tell me. That when he was home, I was gone. They never saw me, and I— I just let him do that, I didn’t think twice.”

“You thought that’s what love looked like,” Natasha murmurs, and Sharon nods. She swipes at a tear that’s spilled over onto her cheek.

“Argh,” she says in frustration, huffing out something like a laugh. “I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“It’s okay,” Nat says. “I don’t mind.”

“I know,” Sharon tells her. She rubs Nat’s wrist and smiles, a little self-deprecatingly. “But this was supposed to be a fresh start, me thanking you by buying you a frappuccino.”

“You can still do that,” says Natasha, smiling at the way that Sharon’s cheeks are glowing. “I like frappuccinos. But I do have one condition.”

A crease of worry appears between Sharon’s eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yeah.” Nat bites her bottom lip, then rushes ahead. “Can I get your number?”

Sharon grins, bright and uncomplicated like she had when Natasha had appeared on the stage in her dress. “Deal,” she says.

She holds out her hand as they cross the lobby of the convention centre to the cafe. Nat takes it, interlaces their fingers, feels that sweetness that was in her chest when she was onstage, but it’s not aching anymore, not empty; it’s more like a feeling of being too full, like the joy inside is bubbling over. She squeezes Sharon’s hand, Sharon squeezes back, and Nat thinks, _Maybe this is what love looks like._

“Thanks,” she tells Sharon, once they’ve got their drinks, and Sharon’s programmed her number into Nat’s phone.

Sharon winks and says, “Any time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Abusive Relationships Tag, explained:
> 
> Sharon's mother is emotionally/psychologically abusive to her, and both Sharon's mother and sister engage in gaslighting. We see this firsthand, when the family comes into the shop, but the entirety of the story is in Natasha's POV, so the abuse is described as an outsider looking in. 
> 
> Domestic Violence Tag, explained:
> 
> 1) Sharon's fiancé hurts her. We do not see this firsthand; Natasha notices the bruises and she and Sharon have an emotional conversation about the abuse without describing it directly. 
> 
> 2) Natasha was in an abusive relationship in the past. Again, we do not see this firsthand. The most descriptive this story gets is in describing a dream that Natasha has that she will be attacked at the store by a man, but it's pretty vague.


End file.
